


Surrender Dorothy

by gwyneth rhys (gwyneth)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: E-mail, Epistolary, M/M, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-03-24
Updated: 1998-03-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:10:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyneth/pseuds/gwyneth%20rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An electronic epistolary story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender Dorothy

Date: Sun, 15 Jan 1998 23:16:39 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: I'm cold  
Sender: Fox Mulder  
To: Walter Skinner  
MIME-Version: 1.0  
Status:

and it's freezing here in Wichita. The first syllable is right -- wich, witch, colder than a witch's tit, whatever.

I don't know what I'm doing here, when I could be home plastered over you, sticky with semen and sweat and both of us smelling like sex. Can you tell I enjoyed the other night? Well, I did. Just the look of utter, confounded, stark terror when I came out of your bathroom naked was enough, but the sex was wonderful, too.

You have a certain haunted quality that I rather enjoy, as if the weight of your job keeps you looking over your shoulder all the time, keeps you in check from the fear of being found out. The thing is, Wally, I found out. I suppose now you'll have to go through some constitutional struggle, sorting it all out, trying to assess why on earth you'd fuck a subordinate, a subordinate *man*. And a crazy one, at that.

Me, I chalk it up to some larger force, some supernal struggle of universal need, rather than mere unnatural tendencies and the mundanity of hormones. YMMV, of course.

E-mail me back. I can see you scowling, that twitch of your head and your narrowed eyes, that angry lion expression. But e-mail me back anyways. I'm lonesome, Scully is crabby, there is no Starbucks in this damn town, and I'm cold.

mulder

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 08:26:50  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Dead man  
Sender:  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
MIME-Version: 1.0  
Status:

If you were here right now I would pound your head against a hard surface until your ears bled. What the hell is the matter with you? Using my work account to send me obscene e-mails? You really are out of your mind. Use the fucking home address, all right? For Christ's sake, isn't it bad enough that we've already jeopardized our jobs?

What *are* you doing in Wichita, anyway? I certainly don't remember you requesting authorization to go there. But then, when do you ever request anything? I have suffered your misbehavior for so long that you think you have carte blanche to do whatever you want. I can't even trust Scully to keep you in check.

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 13:13:42 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Dead man  
To: sergei@notmail.com

Sergei? SERGEI? What the heck is that? Is that your idea of some sexy chat room handle? Is that what you use when you troll for tall, lanky, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boys in the meeting rooms? SERGEI????? And besides, who knew you had a home account.

I am in Wichita investigating the "immaculate conceptions." Don't you remember? I sent you a memo. The crosses appearing on windows from the outside of houses, but not visible from the inside? Then in each case, a woman has mysteriously become pregnant even though she swears she had no sexual intercourse? Ring any bells, Sergei?

Gotta go, Scully's waiting for me. I bet this remote connection's going to cost a fortune. Think of me, Sergei -- tonight, hooked up to the computer, lying on the bed with nothing on, typing one-handed. Don't try to tell me you wouldn't want to be here, in this cheesy little motel room, with my mouth wrapped around your lovely

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 16:10:55  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Dead man  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

How long have you worked with me, seen the S initial, and you still don't know what it stands for? It's my middle name. If I'm going to have a private home account, do you think I'm going to plaster Walter Skinner Assistant Director of the FBI all over it?

&gt; I am in Wichita investigating the "immaculate conceptions." Don't you remember? I sent you a memo.

Mulder, have you ever driven on the beltway from Rockville? You know how you can see, off to the right, the Mormon temple, rising up out of the trees like the Emerald City? I think it looks like the Emerald City. Apparently someone else did, too, because when you drive by, you can see the temple and right in front of you, on that train bridge over the beltway, someone clearly spray-painted Surrender Dorothy. Sure, the transportation department came along and painted over it with industrial gray paint, but you can still clearly see every letter. Makes me laugh every time. And the longer I know you, the more convinced I am that you are the one who spray-painted Surrender Dorothy on that bridge.

Stop calling me Sergei.

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 17:05:36 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: sergei@notmail.com

This is cool. I can see you sitting in front of your computer -- where do you keep it? I didn't notice one in your apartment -- waiting for my mail to arrive. If our servers behave, we could be at this all night. Wally, what are you wearing?

&gt;How long have you worked with me, seen the S initial, and you still don't know what it stands for?

Um, well... I was thinking Stanley, Steven, Sidney, Simon... pretty much anything but Sergei. Who knew? Did your parents have a thing for Dostoyeksky?

You see, this is what I find fascinating about you. You are never what I expect. Most people don't like that, they prefer predictability and stability, they want confidence in the known. I admit that clearly my behavior as a general rule shows I'm the opposite of that, but like anyone else, I would like to be confident in someone's feelings for me. But there's an edgy quality to you, hints of some hidden fire. I like that. I never know how you're going to be. Like a cat, perhaps. One minute they're purring away, the next snarling and ripping holes in your flesh.

Speaking of snarling, I loved those growling noises you made all night. You sound like a wild animal, which works perfectly with your fierce and uncontrolled approach to sex. Three times in one night! Who knew you had the staying power. I admit my ass was sore on that flight out here, but boy, was it worth it. Well-fed and well-fucked, that was me.

&gt;And the longer I know you, the more convinced I am that you are the one who spray-painted Surrender Dorothy on that bridge.

You are the 50th person to tell me that. Everyone believes I did it. But it was there before I ever saw the hallowed halls of the academy. I swear. I do, however, represent the Lollipop Guild.

mulder

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 20:24:40  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

I admit there's a certain appeal to talking to you this way. You can't interrupt, I don't have to watch your hang-dog, puppyish face when I snap at you, I don't have to worry about what smart-ass crack you'll come up with next that will set me off.

&gt; Did your parents have a thing for Dostoyeksky?

My mother's parents were from Lithuania. I can't believe you never bothered to find that out. You're perfectly willing to prance naked around my apartment, but you never bothered to do your homework on my name? Your skills are slipping, Mulder.

And speaking of prancing. What exactly got into your head that night? Had you been planning that all along? One minute I'm listening to you prattling on about flaming crosses in the sky, the next minute I go to get a drink and I come back to find you pasting yourself over me like a bad rash, devoid of clothing. Or scruples, or shame.

There have been times I could see you watching me, and I wondered what was going on in that overworked brain of yours. I assume this is the answer. Clearly this is not the first sexual encounter with a man you've had. I can't say the same. I still can't figure out what happened.

&gt; You sound like a wild animal,

While you, on the other hand, sound like a tribble. You coo and trill. It's very odd. For a guy, anyway. Not that I have any actual experience to base that on, though, that's just how it seems.

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 21:55:50 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: sergei@notmail.com

Deny everything. That's my new motto.

&gt;What exactly got into your head that night? Had you been planning that all along?

I admit, I can be clueless as to the motivations of others at times. It is my weakest skill as a psychologist, and I blame my parents. How can anyone grow up perspicacious about the emotional games others play, the needs and desires of human beings, when they're raised by untrustworthy, deceitful liars?

Nevertheless, it didn't take that many glances my way to figure out that you were more than interested in me, not just for my brilliant mind. The simple fact that you never jumped when I got in your space spoke volumes. And then there was just the fact that I found irresistible your moody gazes, your butch poses -- the way you stick that hip out when you stand, those forsaken, defenseless looks... It was completely spur of the moment. I got caught up in it, I'd been driving it back and forth in my mind for some time. And you were like a siren call that night. All dressed in those tight jeans, the black sweater with the sleeves pushed up on your rippling forearms... tie me to the mast.

Sometimes aggressive response is designed purposely to mask feelings of vulnerability. All those splenetic ravings, your bellicose, quarrelsome conversational strategy, the churlish disciplinarian tactics... ooo, what can I say? I go weak in the knees. And I figured it was hiding something. No one can be that ill-tempered and impassioned without fanning the flames of ardor.

&gt;Not that I have any actual experience to base that on, though, that's just how it seems.

You make it sound like I've had the passing acquaintance of every chicken hawk in Massachusetts. You know what I'm like -- I'm interested in things. Why should sexuality be any different? I've only had a few ... encounters with guys, but I figure that the world's a big place, and there's room for exploration.

So, you didn't answer -- what are you wearing? I'm not wearing anything. I'm sitting here imagining you in all your macho glory, my hand on my dick, hoping I don't come all over the laptop.

Oh, by the way. Don't try to figure things out. Sometimes it's not worth it. This case certainly isn't worth all the time I'm spending on it.

mulder

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 22:30:21  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

You are a pervert, did you know that? Phone sex is one thing, but e-mail sex?

I had to go to the dictionary three times in that last post. Show-off. I bet you won spelling bees when you were a kid.

&gt;Nevertheless, it didn't take that many glances my way to figure out that you were more than interested in me,

That may have been your interpretation but it was certainly not my motivation. That had never occurred to me. I'm not denying we have a certain... dynamic, but I'm not saying it's what you thought it was. Unfortunately, I can't turn back the clock, and my behavior the other night only confirms your theories.

&gt;This case certainly isn't worth all the time I'm spending on it.

This doesn't sound like you, Mulder. You sound uninterested or even sad. What's up?

 

Date: Mon, 16 Jan 1998 23:56:58 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: sergei@notmail.com

It's time to hit the hay. We'll be up bright and early interviewing the charming Bobby Bullock, the minister of the local Baptist church, to which all the mothers-to-be belong.

I suppose you could say I'm uninterested or even sad. Whereas the chase for unusual events and impossible explanations used to amuse and distract me, lately it's become a chore. That whole mess with Kritschgau, the thing with Samantha, the near-disaster with you... not to even count the potential loss of Scully... it's all left a bad taste in my mouth, a bitter pill. I just don't *care* much any more, Wally. Technically, this could have been a great opportunity for one of those religious roundelays Scully and I get into from time to time, where I become Thomas the doubter and she becomes the faithful, and the song just goes on and on, over and over. After all, immaculate conceptions are a once-in-a-millennium event, right? And crosses of light burning in the windows of the mothers' houses? Well, I thought a good rumpus was heating up.

But you know, it's all very pedestrian, very *explainable*. I'm quite sure that in a days' time or two, we'll discover some type of rape occurring, whether it's chemically induced like that odd case we had recently with the "monster," or like the Van Blundht thing. There's this fellow who's been following Fortean events such as these, the crosses I mean, and he's convinced the crosses are a message from someone called Maitreya, who will represent all things to all faiths -- Buddha, Christ, Mohammed, David... what have you. My favorite part of his research though is that the crosses of light appear mostly in the houses of the poor, *on their bathroom window.* I have always thought that if the messiah were to return to earth, he/she would do it in the john, at a trailer park.

So call me cynical these days. Though, if I think about it, what I really want to believe in is someone, not something. I have watched you, studied you for a few years now. And I can safely say I have not met anyone in my life as courageous, honest, imposing, aggressive, trustworthy and remote as you. You push all my buttons. All the things I find myself drawn to. And the fact that you would deny all these things -- I can see you shaking your head right now, eyes narrowed -- makes you even more mysterious to me. You're a Rubik's cube of mystique, and I am convinced that if I line up all the colors I can solve the puzzle that is Walter Skinner. Did I add virile in that list? Sexy? I should have. I always say I want to believe. My addendum is that I want to believe in you, with you. Will you let me?

I should be able to wrap this up soon. I am actually looking forward to getting back to stuff, not the least of which is seeing you. But I'm especially looking forward to getting on the plane, and when it takes off, turning to Scully and saying, "Dana, I don't think we're in Kansas any more."

mulder

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 17:12:34  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

&gt;I have watched you, studied you for a few years now.

This is a problem they work with us on in management training. There's an entire workshop dealing with young, handsome, intelligent, creative male agents falling for their old, bald, desk-jockey bosses. You can't imagine the number of these cases that occur all across the country.

&gt; And I can safely say I have not met anyone in my life as courageous, honest, imposing, aggressive, trustworthy and remote as you.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Mulder, I don't possess those qualities. What you think is courage is just... going on with life. Nothing more. I have not always been honest with you, and I think you know that. Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't without endangering you. As for the other things, I suppose I can't deny them, but I don't know if that would be how I'd define myself if you asked me. I'm just a mid-level bureaucrat, an old bald guy who sits at a desk all day dreaming up new ways to piss off his staff, who is now struggling to deal with a heretofore undiscovered interest in an employee.

I don't know what to say to you, so I will take my usual route and not say anything at all.

&gt; So call me cynical these days.

I hope this isn't really true. What makes you you is your willingness to believe things, your refusal to let everyone else's cynicism deter you from your goals or your ideology. On the other hand, what would the world be like if just once we didn't have to say "You're not suggesting..."

More boring, I guess.

&gt; &gt;My favorite part of his research though is that the crosses of light appear mostly in the houses of the poor, *on their bathroom window.* I have always thought that if the messiah were to return to earth, he/she would do it in the john, at a trailer park.

Are you absolutely sure you didn't spray-paint that bridge??

Please stop calling me Wally.

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 17:48:41 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: sergei@notmail.com

&gt; There's an entire workshop dealing with young, handsome, intelligent, creative male agents falling for their old, bald, desk-jockey bosses.

So this is your way of removing yourself from it all? Deflect it back by way of the old "nobody loves me, everybody hates me" thing? I'm too old, I'm ugly, I'm a guy, guess I'll go eat some worms? Fat chance, Walter. I'm not letting you get away with that. Besides, think on this -- me straddling you over the soft leather of your couch, impaled on your cock, you fucking the living daylights out of me until your thighs quivered from the strain and my legs gave out and we both ended up in a heap. That image is seared on my brain for all time, and if the fact that that was nirvana for me is lost on you, that you'd want to discount that because you're older or bald or whatever, well... you've got another think coming, big boy.

&gt; I don't know what to say to you, so I will take my usual route and not say anything at all.

Okay, I admit I'd hoped for more. But I realize you're not the type to burst into a stirring rendition of "Feelings" or even quote song lyrics to me. Still, couldn't you have said something? Even a "yes, you can believe in me" would have sufficed. That's what I'd like, Walter. To take all the beliefs I've abandoned and make you the thing I believe in. Can I please, huh? Can I huh, huh?

I like a lot of things about you. Not the least of which is your quirky personality (I know, pot calling kettle black, etc.). But I can't help thinking of your body that night, the way it was revealed to me like slowly developing pictures. The geography of you -- the flat plain of your stomach, furrowed by toned muscle; the round, soft hills of your perfect ass; the long roping channels of quadriceps that twist and turn along your thighs; the promontory of your strong chin. I liked all these things and it's a country I want to learn.

mulder

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 19:34:41  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender Dorothy  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

There are beliefs, and there are beliefs, Mulder. Some things you can believe in and it doesn't matter whether there's truth behind them. But other things... we live in a world where we can't always believe what we want to.

Are you thinking of settling down with a white picket fence, a couple of golden retrievers and don't forget the collection of show tunes? I can't believe you'd believe that. So what do you see? I see disaster. I see these e-mails turning up in my personnel file, courtesy of your consortium people. I see a future with me working at Hardee's as the night manager and you playing board games in the dayroom at Maryland State Mental Hospital.

And yes, I also see me fucking the living daylights out of you. Of you fucking the living daylights out of me. Is that what you want to hear?

&gt; The geography of you

Now you're embarrassing me. But I do think about you. What I kept going back to was your eyes. They're as changeable as the ocean -- one minute green, like the edge of the sea; the next dark, almost blue, like deep water; another time brownish green, the way the water looks when it's churned by a storm. Now I'm really embarrassed.

Mulder, you have so many unique characteristics. Who wouldn't admit to being fascinated with you, by you? I don't know anyone who could help but be pulled into your orbit. And that's all I'm going to say about it.

Oh. and yes. You can believe in me.

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 20:13:37 -0800  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender  
To: sergei@notmail.com

Well, now we get to the heart of the matter. I'm not expecting or even hoping for a matching ring ceremony in Hawaii to test the new marriage laws. I'm not expecting to buy a charming townhouse in Georgetown that we can fix up together. I'm not even thinking of gay cruises to the Caribbean, although that could be fun and I'd be well-fucked and well-fed again.

I know you better than that. I'm thinking of just being with you. That's something I've never had, do you know that? My relationships with people have been... damaged, at best. There's something different with you. I feel need, but not needy. I feel a cool acceptance, but not coldness. I feel trust, but no manipulation to gain that trust.

&gt; So what do you see? I see disaster. I see these e-mails turning up in my personnel file,

Well, I admit that I never saw myself as the career guy you are. If I try to look five years into the future, I don't necessarily see the Bureau. There are a lot of things I can do, not the least of which would be to use that damn degree I got for something real. I know that you see yourself there until retirement. But I'd never endanger you, not purposely.

I don't care what happens, necessarily. Selfish, I know. The consequences are not of interest to me. The actions are. I'd rather take the time with you now.

The case is pretty much wrapped up. It was what we thought. I can tell you more in my report -- the fiery crosses were a nice, creative touch, and the story should amuse you. Now there's a goal -- see you crack a smile.

You know that subject line in this post that's been going back and forth? I like the thought of that, really. Surrender. Who's surrendering, though? You or me?

mulder

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 22:57:49  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

&gt; The consequences are not of interest to me. The actions are. I'd rather take the time with you now.

Now this *does* sound like you. Greedy, blind to the needs of others. Focused on your own goals and damn the consequences. Willfully ignorant of the effect of your personality on the people you care about. I suppose that all sounds bad but I don't know that I mean it that way, not totally. In you, those things can be charming at times.

&gt; Well, I admit that I never saw myself as the career guy you are. If I try to look five years into the future, I don't necessarily see the Bureau.

I realize that. Few people want to work their way up the ladder as I've done; it's boring and conservative. But I want the choice to end my career as I see fit, not have it done for me in disgrace, blazoning photos of me in flagrante all over the local papers with headlines screaming FBI AD in Secret Gay Love Nest. The truth, Mulder? You scare me. If I wind up letting my dick or my heart rule my head, and I continue seeing you, I would just like to think it won't be the end of life as I know it. I'd like to be with someone just a little more... predictable. A little more... consistent. Someone who isn't going to show up on my doorstep naked carrying a can of whipping cream and a cat o'nine tails. You know what I mean.

&gt;Surrender. Who's surrendering, though? You or me?

Well, that's one for the wizard. I don't know that I have the answer. I guess you'd say I am, because I'm giving up some control over my life. Or maybe I could say you, because you're giving in to your passions again.

Mulder, it's really late, and I need to go to bed. This is giving me a headache. Finish tomorrow, okay?

 

Date: Tue, 17 Jan 1998 23:44:09 -0500  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender  
To: sergei@notmail.com

Sergei, don't go to bed just yet. Or at least, read this in the morning, please. I'm coming home tomorrow and I won't have time to e-mail. Not without my dear little partner peering over her spectacles at my laptop, wondering what I'm feverishly typing away on and why my cheeks are a lovely, flattering shade of coral.

&gt; Few people want to work their way up the ladder as I've done; it's boring and conservative.

How did you get where you are anyway? I've always wanted to know. You're young for this job, really. Was it violent crimes? That seems like your forte. I bet I know -- organized crime. You look like you could have been a wiseguy. And I like that about you, really, that bureaucrat thing you dismiss so readily. You're not like any pencil-pusher I've ever met. You're more like a caged large cat, really, pacing back and forth, all whiptail motion and swirling energy. The big hands like paws, ready to swat or soothe.

&gt; I'd like to be with someone just a little more... predictable. A little more... consistent.

I can do consistent. I can do predictable. Try me. Anything to make you happy, Wally. I *want* to make you happy. I want to hear you purr with contentment and see you streeetttch out in that replete, happy way cats have. Roar with triumph when you come.

It's not quite as late here as it is for you. The stars are out tonight and because we're way the hell out of the city limits, there's not a lot of light. You can see every star in the sky as if it were a game of Lite Brite played with just the clear pegs. While I was waiting for your e-mail, I went out and sat on the roof of the car, just watching the sky. I saw three shooting stars. It's butt cold, as they say down south, but I put on every ounce of clothing I have and just sat there, watching. I wonder what the stars mean. Three. For you, me and Scully? I made a wish on each of them. Bet you know what I wished for me.

mulder

 

Date: Wed, 18 Jan 1998 02:13:54  
From: sergei@notmail.com  
Subject: Surrender  
To: fmulder@xfiles.members.net

I couldn't sleep. Somehow I knew you'd send another post anyway. I'm sure you know why I couldn't sleep. Here's a picture for you: The past two days I have accomplished nothing at work. I have managed to organize my paper clips into a nice, tidy pile. The papers on my desk are all neatly aligned along a razor-sharp line. All my pens and pencils have fresh new refills in them. Kim brought in reports to sign off on and I signed every one, dutifully, without so much as looking at what they were. Someone could have requisitioned a tank and I wouldn't know that I'd signed it. I blame you. I'm glad you're coming home because I don't think I can be distracted like this for long. Here are words I've never uttered: We have to talk.

&gt; How did you get where you are anyway? I've always wanted to know. You're young for this job, really. Was it violent crimes? That seems like your forte. I bet I know -- organized crime.

You're right, actually. I started out in a field office, like most people. I was pretty good at what I did. Eventually I ended up in New York in OCB. Because, as you say, I looked like a wiseguy. But more people kept leaving or dying off, and I rose through the ranks. Much to our -- my -- surprise, I was found to have a talent for managing people. (Until I met you, anyway.) I worked with the guys in Giuliani's office during the '80s mafia stuff, but where I really excelled was in supervising. So eventually I ended up at headquarters. I was one of the few people who thought behavioral sciences was a good idea -- there are still hard-liners who think it's all bullshit. I think to some degree that helped me, even though I never worked in that area. That's how I found out about you, though. You were brilliant -- well, you still are. None of that tv-movie of the week crap of seeing through the killer's eyes. Just unbelievably astute, concentrated... well, police work. You could see patterns in things that no one else could spot. Even now, you see things no one notices. Who'd have ever looked at the air vent Tooms used to get his first victim, but you? But I digress.

I'm going back to bed now. I'll see you when you bring me your report.

 

Date: Wed, 18 Jan 1998 02:49:19  
From: fmulder@xfiles.members.net  
Subject: Surrender  
To: sergei@notmail.com

Walter. If you get this tomorrow, be home at six. Click your heels together three times. Then go upstairs and look on your bed and say, there's no place like home.

Surrender, Walter.

Surrender.


End file.
